Worth My Own Breath
by ThatPurplyThing
Summary: As the Kremlin burns, destruction imminent, Russia refuses to leave it. In the aftermath, the other nations are left to wonder if something they protect should be worth their own life. Warning: Character Death


**This is a very quick story I wrote up following some ideas I had in my head. It's partially inspired by this one MLP fic "Let It Burn" by HopeFox (I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind). But a lot of it is based on Russia's character song "My Heart Has a Light", where he refers to the Kremlin as his home.**

**This story doesn't make complete sense, and is more of a 'write what you feel' story. So pacing and whatnot is a little discombobulated.**

**Read and Review please.**

* * *

The heart of Moscow was ablaze. This much was clear to the others as they viewed the horrific sight. Apparently a fire broke out on an outer wall of the Kremlin, and it was beginning to burn from the inside.

As soon as the news had announced the breaking story, the former Allied powers hurried over, to help in any way possible. As soon as they arrived, they saw firefighters scurrying about, gathering hoses and the mist of water sprayed and smoke was catching on everyone's face, leaving them gray.

It was really horrible. Flames were shooting out from one of the Kremlin walls, with thick black smoke flowing into the air. The rest of the city was unharmed, but it was very clear the Kremlin would burn out before the fire would be extinguished.

"H-hey, where's Russia anyway?", asked America with panick. The other Allied powers seemed to blanche with a realization that the nation in question was nowhere to be seen.

As a matter of fact, Russia never even contacted them about the fire. Usually when a disaster was occuring, a nation would call the other nations immediately for help. He hadn't said a word, and they ended up learning through the news. And Russia's sisters didn't say anything either. Did they not want them to know he was in trouble?

_What if Russia's trapped in there?_

A frightened look showed on the American's face, and without thinking, he ran towards the burning complex. England yelled at him to come back, but it fell on deaf ears.

Running into the untouched part of the complex, America called out for the missing nation, "Russia!", and looked around frantically to see if the violet eyed man was anywhere.

After the Soviet Union had fallen apart, he and Russia had finally stopped hating each other, and called a truce. And eventually, the truce led to a friendship. They had found a mutual interest in space, and surprisingly, many other things. The Russian was usually quiet, and kept to himself, and often seemed cold, but he tended to open up to his American friend more than other people, revealing himself to be a very simple, gentle man. America cared about Russia very much, and knew that this friendship wasn't just a normal one. Russia was his friend for life.

"Russia!" shouted America, pausing a moment to cough violently into his sleeve as the smoke got thicker. His eyes were burning and watering from the thick polluted air in the enclosed outdoor space of the complex. The air got hotter, leaving the American uncomfortably warm. Dread was pooling into his ill stomach as he hurried blindly around the burning enclosure.

_Fuck..._, thought America, _I've gotta find Russia before I roast._

America eventually stumbled into an area with less smoke, and through his impaired vision, he felt a huge amount of relief as he saw a familiar figure. Russia was standing in front of the Assumption Cathedral, watching with a melancholy face as the flames greedily licked at the back of the building from the Kremlin wall, leaving the beautiful golden-domed structure to be doomed. Despite all the chaos going around him, he was surprisingly calm.

America hobbled over to him quickly, "R-Russia!" he cried, coughing and choking from the smoke, "G-glad to have found you!"

Russia turned his head, and his eyes were wide with horror, "America, what are you doing?"

"I was -cough- trying to find your sorry -cough- ass."

Russia stared at him still, and gave a worried look, "You're not trapped in here are you?"

"Aw hell naw -cough-! The -cough- exit wasn't even smoked -cough- when I ran in." America shrugged off, his face pale.

Russia's brow furrowed, and his eyes serious, "America, you need to get out now, this is very dangerous."

"-cough cough- Not leaving without you big guy. Let's -cough- hurry up and make a run for-"

"I am not leaving."

"-cough- What? Like hell I'm leaving you in here. -cough cough- Now move it!", demanded America, his glasses stained by the smoke.

"I am staying here. I'm sorry, but this is how it is." insisted the Russian calmly, eyes apologetic.

"N-no! You're -cough- getting out of here with me! Y-you're crazy if you think you're going to stay." shook the American, about ready to fall over, having trouble breathing.

"America, get out of here now. You're not safe here."

"W-well neither are -cough- you..." muttered the blonde man, as he felt light and choked, passing out. Violet eyes worried, the Russian picked him up gently, and carried him off, walking towards the exit doors leading to the outside.

* * *

France first caught sight of the tall man walking through the veil of smoke emitting from the doors, having been staring frightfully at the growing wall of flame outlining the complex, and signaled to the other two Allies. England caught sight of the American in Russia's arms, and ran over to him, eyes wide with fright, "America!"

"He's alright." assured the Russian calmly, "He's just inhaled some smoke. It was rather foolish of you to let him run in."

"I tried to tell him to stop, but he's an impulsive boy." sighed England, "At least he found you, and you're safe so we-"

"I'm afraid I'll have to be returning back."

"What? Are you crazy, aru? You'll get killed in there!" shrieked China.

"There's nothing I can do about it." replied Russia, sighing as he saw the wall of fire expanding to view.

"Stay with us mon ami." insisted France, "We'll just help you rebuild the Kremlin, we promise!"

As the other two nations nodded, Russia shook his head, and handed America to England, who tried to hold him with much difficulty, "I'm going back, and you can't stop me."

His gaze turned threatening for a split second, with a bit of sadness declared, "I won't let you."

The other nations, sans the unconscious American, looked up at Russia, whose blonde hair had bits of ash in it, and his pink scarf was toned with smoke stains. He wasn't going to change his mind for anything. England quivered a little, "Y-you can't be serious about going back in there, lad...C-can't you just wait for the fire to burn out?"

"I have a purpose to stay behind for this. You'll understand one day." replied Russia with a melancholy tone. His eyes were mournful, and he reached his arms out to hug the others. They held their arms out, and accepted the caring squeeze he gave them. As they felt his strangely lukewarm embrace for the last time, he spoke softly, "I have been forever grateful for your friendships and company."

He took a step back, and with those sad purple eyes, he dismissed, "Dosvidaniya, comrades.", before he turned around and walked away calmly back into the complex, the smoke shrouding him one last time. China started forward, but England held him by the shoulder, and said regretfully, "Let him go. He knows what he's doing.", and they all watched as the flames mowed through the entrance doors that the nation had disappeared through.

* * *

A few minutes later, America regained consciousness, and looked up at England, "How'd I -cough- get out here?"

"You passed out, and Russia had to carry you out here." replied the Englishman, taking notice of America's ash-dusted face.

"Where is the big guy anyway?"

England looked away nervously, and could only watch as America turned his head to see the Kremlin, horror on his face as he saw the entrance was already ablaze, blocking entry.

"He...he went back in...we tried to stop him..." started England, putting a hand on the American's shoulder.

"N-no!" shouted America, scrambling to get up, "Why didn't you stop him!"

"We tried! He wasn't going to change his mind...there was nothing else we could do..."

"Russia! Goddamnit! You fucking idiot!" America screamed at the burning walls, eyes beginning to water, "Why did you do that?"

He tried to make a run towards the fiery structure, but England and France lunged and held onto his arms firmly. He broke down muttering, "Y-you idiot. You stupid, psycho idiot..."

"I'm sorry...we tried...I'm so sorry America..." murmured England sadly, as they all gazed with horror as the Kremlin quickly became fully ablaze from the outside, glowing horrifically as the flames grew larger and more plentiful.

They all sat away from that far distance, watching reluctantly as the sky grew darker with night, leaving the intense light of the blaze to grow brighter. The night grew colder, leaving the fire to keep them warm ironically.

* * *

By the time morning came, the fire had tired itself on charred remains of the walls. The smoke was still lingering, but beginning to clear. The area was deathly silent much like a lifeless realm.

The Kremlin was hardly there. It was almost hard to believe, since it was still standing, but if one had gone inside then, they'd realize it was all nothing but a charred, burned out carcass of a complex.

At some point after most of the smoke was nothing but mist, England and the others had agreed that it was time to go into the wreck.

Before they could, they saw Belarus walking up the street, surprisingly very quiet and withdrawn. Approaching England, she held out a letter.

"T-this is from Ukraine."

"Oh...thank you.", he replied quietly, taking it gently. Before any more conversation could be exchanged, the girl looked up at the burned Kremlin, and blinked away what was supposedly a tear, before finally walking off.

England tucked the letter into his pocket, and followed behind France, who was walking to the ruins of the Russian structure. America and China followed behind reluctantly, afraid to see anything horrific.

The outside part of the complex was completely barren and empty, the independent structures either smoke stained or completely gone. They all quickly looked through them, and found nothing but ruin. No signs of life.

They soon entered the largest part of the Kremlin, where Russia had lived for the last few centuries. The wooden halls were blackened, and debris covered the ground everywhere. China wrinkled his nose at the smell of charcoal. One of the drawing rooms was partially there, not completely burned out, with only one wall blackened, but the furniture and trinkets were smoke-stained and ruined. A set of matryoshka dolls sat on a shelf, completely gray.

One of the old meeting rooms was completely destroyed, burned to the corners, and the furniture was nothing but a smoldering heap. China had the strange urge to walk over to where his chair had once been in this room, but instead they left.

Another drawing room was left in ruins, smoke residue and ash spilling onto the white carpet. The walls were barely there, only thin black charcoal panels. The furniture was so badly burned, it would have broken into pieces if it was touched. Some many metal vases were intact, but scalding hot to the touch. France recognized this room from one of his many visits to Russia's home. The vases once carried beautiful sunflowers which were now nothing but ash and dust. This had been Russia's favorite room. He'd drink his tea in it, and keep many sunflowers in the vases.

France took notice of something slumped on the floor behind one of the couches, having blended in with the rest of the blackened room. Peering over the edge, he immediately looked away with a pained grimace. England and China saw his face and their eyes bleakened with a grim understanding. France was covering it with his royal blue coat when America peered over to see it, but he had been able to catch the burned remains of a pinkish-gray scarf trailing from under the cover.

As the American stared horrified at the charred mass below him, England took out the letter from Ukraine and read it carefully, noting how much of the ink was blurred by what could be considered teardrops.

* * *

_To whoever this was given to,_

_I am writing this in regards of my brother, Russia, or as we would call him, Ivan. I already know that many of you are confused and angry regarding his decision to stay in the Kremlin as it burned this day. This was completely unexpected, tragic, and I wish that this never would have happened._

_Allow me, as his sister, to explain his reasoning for remaining in the complex._

_The Kremlin has been his home for the last few centuries, and it has been, as he's told me, the residence of his heart. He cherished this place greatly, for many reasons that he's told me, or kept to himself._

_During the Soviet Union, this was my home as well, until I left. When it was threatened to be destroyed by rioting, violence, or whatnot, he'd order us to leave for a safer place, while he remained behind._

_You see, Russia inhabited this place, but as Ivan, he was the Kremlin's life-long guardian. When he was younger, when the Kremlin was being planned, he told me it was some strange epiphany of his that he was to guard this place with his life. He refused to leave it behind for anything. When everyone left it after the Soviet Union broke apart, he didn't go after us or try to live with me. Instead, he stayed behind, to protect his home. If there was ever something that happened to it, he'd blame himself profusely._

_As the sole guardian, he'd stand by it in times of disaster, even if its destruction was inevitable; even if it would cost him his own life. He reasoned that if his home were destroyed, he'd go with it, and protect it in the afterlife, as he was a part of it._

_So when the fire broke out, and it was clear it would end up destroying the Kremlin, my sister and I begged him to stay with us, but he wouldn't change his mind. He was so devoted to his home, he'd give up his own life for it. He'd been willing to sacrifice his eternal youth for it, and his job as a nation. Eventually a new embodiment of Russia will be born, but Ivan, my brother, is forever part of his home, just as he's always been._

_I am not afraid to say I'm proud of his sacrifice, but also beside myself with grief as he is gone._

_I would like to finish by saying that he truly cared about the other nations very much, and always felt guilty for whatever he might have done to them. And he wished that they will be happy._

_Thank you,_

_Ukraine_

* * *

England looked up from the letter as he heard the muffled sobbing of America, who was wailing into France's shoulder as the older man hugged him mournfully. China stood beside them, looking down at the cloaked remains on the floor, biting his knuckle as he held back tears he tried to deny.

England could feel tears on his own cheeks, as he thought to himself,_ The poor lad...that poor brave lad..._

There were things that they themselves as nations declared they would protect with their life. For England, the Queen. China, the Great Wall. France, Notre Dame. And America, his country's freedom.

But with the terror and grief Ivan's sacrifice had left them, they'd have to stop and wonder if it was really worth it.


End file.
